


And Just Like That

by ren_ascent



Series: Your Sweet Touch [4]
Category: Pushing Daisies, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21542242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ren_ascent/pseuds/ren_ascent
Summary: Dean is surprised to learn that Ned is a vegetarian. He's even more surprised to find out why.
Relationships: Ned (Pushing Daisies)/Dean Winchester
Series: Your Sweet Touch [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549603
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	And Just Like That

**Author's Note:**

> Same old, same old... This isn't a new work. Originally posted in 2014 under my old pseud rippedoutgrace.

Every item of clothing Dean owns covers his entire bed and most of Sam’s right now. Dean even went so far as to dig through Sam’s duffle, but Sam told him nothing would fit him anyway so “beat it”. Dean casts a final longing look at the dark blue button-down peeking out of Sam’s bag and huffs when Sam eyes him pointedly. “It won’t fit you, Dean. A t-shirt, maybe, but I’m bigger than you are.”

He knows all this, of course. He just doesn’t know what to _wear_.

And yes, Dean is fully cognizant of the fact that he’s a grown man and should not be having this dilemma, and yet here we all are.

“This?” He holds up his gray slacks, sans the matching suit jacket, with a white button-down. “I thought you were going to dinner. Not interviewing murder suspects.”

Dean looks woefully at his bed. Why doesn’t he own _date_ clothes? Everything is plaid. Or a t- shirt. Or FBI agent suit. “Why aren’t you helping me?” he groans.

“This,” Sam tells him dismissively, “is not my area of expertise, Dean. Call Charlie or something.” And with that, Sam opens his laptop and angles his body away from Dean and his impending crisis. Dean actually would call Charlie, but he doesn’t want to have that conversation in front of Sam, who would undoubtedly bring it up again at every available opportunity and laugh about it.

He sighs and scrubs a hand through his damp hair. His watch says he has forty-five minutes and he’s still standing in his underwear. Pick something already, come on, Dean.

In the end, he settles for sending Charlie a couple of picture messages and waits impatiently for her to reply. His phone chirps in his hand not two minutes later.

_Really?? The first one, definitely._

_  
_ A second chirp. _I want to hear about it later._

A third. Dean rolls his eyes. She can’t just put it all in one message? _Would you be anywhere near San Diego in July?_

A fourth. But this time Dean is rocking on the balls of his feet expectantly. He knows what she’s going to say and there it is. _Comic con? :)_

He types back a resounding _YES._ And then starts wriggling into his pants. He’s going to be late now.

The restaurant definitely isn’t something Dean would have normally picked, but he kind of chose their first date so only fair Ned gets to pick the second date.

A matinee showing of the original three Star Wars films at the dollar theater was an excellent first date though. He just happened to see it in the newspaper while Sam was reading something to him from the obits. Turns out that Ned likes the movies just as much as Dean and Dean takes that as a very good sign.

It also meant that they dressed casual and shared popcorn between them, hands brushing against each other as they reached in the bucket. Dean may have purposely stuck his hand in it whenever he saw Ned reaching first. He has his suspicions that Ned was doing the same. It was...nice. Really nice.

Ned is already sitting at a small table near the front and he waves shyly at Dean when he walks in. Dean gestures at him for the benefit of the hostess and slides into the chair across from Ned. “Hi.”

“Dean,” he says warmly. “You look really nice.”

Dean doesn’t mention how long it took him to figure out to put his white button-down with a pair of jeans. Way too long. “Thanks, you do, too.” And he means it. Ned’s not one for bright colors, unlike the rest of his _entire_ town, but his soft black sweater hugs him nicely and makes Dean want to rub his fingers against it and trace the outlines of Ned’s shoulders.

The waiter comes by and asks what they want to drink and Dean’s secretly pleased for some reason that they both order beer. It’s always a little awkward to date a non-drinker, he thinks. Always feeling the need to apologize whenever he takes a sip. “So, what’s good here? I’ve never heard of this place.”

Ned looks around and smiles back at Dean. “The owner comes in for pie with his daughters pretty often, so I’ve known him for a while.” He flips through the menu for a moment and then turns it so Dean can see. “I like this one, and... this one here,” he says, pointing with an elegantly long finger. “Think I’ll get the second one tonight if you want a bite of it.” A blush and small smile.

Before Dean’s mind can run away with those thoughts, he reads what Ned’s pointing at. Roasted vegetable platter. Vegetable lasagna. Wait...

“Are we ready to order, gentlemen?”

“The lasagna for me. Dean? Are you ready? Sorry, I should have asked. Can you give us another minute?” Ned’s face is apologetic and he’s about to shoo away the waiter.

They both turn expectantly towards Dean, waiting for answer. He wets his mouth with a sip of beer before weakly responding, “The cheeseburger, please.”

The waiter jots it down with a smile and disappears. Leaving a slightly uncomfortable Dean and Ned at the table.

“You’re a vegetarian?” He’s used to Sam’s mega-healthy salads and vegetables all the time, but even Sam eats a steak now and then.

Ned shifts in his seat. “Um, yes. Is that...a problem?”

“No!” he exclaims a little too loudly and attracts the attention of several patrons. “No,” he says quieter. “I just assumed and yeah, sorry. Does it bother you that I’m not?”

Dean has visions of PETA knocking down his motel door tonight and nearly misses Ned’s reply. “Of course not! I’m not, you know, an animal rights activist. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I like animals and they’re fine...” he trails off and puts a hand over his eyes.

“Health reasons?” Dean guesses, ignoring Ned’s stumbling around his explanation. Ned looks (really) great, but you never know what’s going on underneath the hood, he supposes.

“Well, kind of. Not really. Sort of? No.”

“Oh.”

They sit in silence. Dean because he’s unsure if he just stuck his foot in his mouth (wouldn’t be the first time), and Ned because he has no idea how to explain this.

Dean’s still desperately trying to come up with a new topic when the waiter arrives with two plates in his hands, and thank God for it. “Cheeseburger for you, and lasagna for you. Can I get you anything else?”

They shake their heads mutely and stare at their respective plates. Dean’s gotten through a couple of bites before he sets down his burger and reaches a hand across the table to hook his fingers through Ned’s.

Ned’s sigh of relief is audible and Dean grins at it. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean for that to get so weird.”

“Nah, hey, it’s cool. You’re a vegetarian and you’ve got your reasons.”

“And you’re not and you’ve got your reasons,” Ned adds with a smile. “How’s your burger?”

“Good. How’s yours?” Dean takes his hand back to grab his burger again.

“Delicious. You... you can still try some if you want?” Ned nervously tells him.

Dean takes a forkful, mostly to be polite, and is amazed to find that _damn_ , it’s actually pretty good. He tells Ned as much, and Ned’s sweet smile stays with him long after the meal is over.

Ned insists on paying and Dean lets him because the only credit card he has currently sports the name of one Howard Berkovitz. Dean’s not quite ready to tell all and Ned seems happy enough to pay.

They leave the restaurant and Dean slips his hand through Ned’s and walks a little closer than necessary. Wandering a little aimlessly suits them both and they talk of nothing until they reach a small park.

“I take Digby here sometimes.” He tugs on Dean’s hand until they reach a bench near a light post. The light gives them both a weird orange tint but Dean doesn’t mind it. Ned looks good in any light. He’s not sure he can say the same for himself but whatever.

“I thought you gave him to Olive.”

  
“What? Oh, no,” Ned laughs. “Olive does take care of him for me though.”

They’re still holding hands and Dean examines them while he thinks about that. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s something Ned isn’t telling him. Their hands, however, are fascinating. Ned’s are longer, slimmer, while Dean’s are rougher and calloused from years of shoveling graves. He’s delighted to find that they both have freckles though.

He holds their hands up to the orange glow and at Ned’s questioning glance, he tells him, “You’ve got freckles, too.”

“All over, actually. My shoulders have the most, I think.”

  
“I’d like to see that sometime,” Dean says without thinking. “Oh, I mean –“

But Ned interrupts him. “I think... I’d like that too.”

Dean lowers their hands and takes his free one to tilt Ned’s chin towards him. “Yeah, we can definitely do that,” he murmurs. He leans in, giving Ned time to stop him but beyond wide eyes, he doesn’t, so Dean closes the distance and presses a kiss to his lips. Then another and another and another until there’s no discernible break between them anymore.

Ned’s lips are soft and he kisses back earnestly despite the somewhat awkward angle. He fixes it by pulling one long leg on the bench and turns to face Dean better.

When they finally pull apart, Ned’s breathing heavily with his eyes still closed. Dean can’t help but swipe his thumb across Ned’s lower lip, shining slightly with their kisses. He leans back in, determined to taste more of the sweet pie maker when Ned squeezes their still joined hands.

“Dean? Can I tell you something?”

His heart gives a little jump, and he’s immediately sitting back, thinking of the terrible possibilities that could follow that statement. He and Chuck are married. No. He and _Olive_ are married. Emerson?

  
“Please tell me you’re not married,” he groans, unable to wait.

Ned laughs surprised between them. “Oh God, no! No, Dean. It kind of has to do with why I’m a vegetarian though.”

Nope, not expecting that at all. “You have to tell me right now?”

“Well, I guess not, but I wanted to tell you. Or –“ he pauses. “Maybe I should show you.” He bends over and begins reaching for the pile of dead leaves that’s gathered under the bench.

“Don’t... freak out,” he implores Dean and Dean’s confused as hell.

“I won’t?” He doesn’t think he will, at least. He’s seen a lot of stuff in his life but he’s not sure how to be prepared for this. Whatever it is.

Ned’s holding a leaf in his hand, green and fluttering softly in the breeze. “It’s... nice?” By the look on Ned’s face Dean isn’t getting it.

Ned twirls the stem of it between his fingers and the green shine of the leaf catches the orange light. He touches it with a finger and it goes brown and dry.

And Dean’s brain is having a hard time playing catch up. “It’s dead.” His eyes widen. “You _killed_ it?” Oh, now that's bad.

Ned scrunches his face up adorably and Dean doesn’t want to think about how adorable he is right now because what the hell is happening.

“I didn’t _kill_ it. It was dead already. I... I brought it back to life.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. Ned shreds the dead leaf between his fingers and Dean stares at it.

“You know,” he starts, and clears his throat. Ned glances at him nervously, like he’s waiting for Dean to crush him, and no, Dean just can’t have that. “I’ve seen weirder,” he shrugs. It’s not a lie.

Ned’s breathless laugh and spontaneous kiss makes Dean laugh in return and he’ll probably be freaked out about this later, but for now he has an incredibly likeable man in his arms and he smells like pie and strawberries and everything good in the world. And Dean just can’t be mad about that.

**Author's Note:**

> A hint of plot with your fluff


End file.
